


Immovable

by cricketinthegrass



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Steadfast Tin Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricketinthegrass/pseuds/cricketinthegrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Rumbelle story based on Hans Christian Andersen's "The Steadfast Tin Soldier".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Morning

They were a set of 25, which was a good number of tin soldiers. They were sharply painted in red, white, and black, with gold epaulettes, and little bayonets affixed to their rifles, perfect for young Michael as he opened them Christmas morning. He gleefully clapped his hands, then set about the busy task of taking them out of their box and setting them up in rows on the floor. When he reached for the last one, he was surprised to find that the last soldier was unlike the others. He was the same in all points except his form; this last tin soldier only had one leg. Michael worried for a moment as he placed the last soldier in line, but once he saw that it was as sturdy as the others, he quickly forgot its uniqueness. His noisy battle scenes went mostly unnoticed in the contained uproar that was Christmas, with everyone opening gifts and exclaiming over novelties. Only once the children were called to a late breakfast did the toys have a moment to observe their new surroundings.

The soldiers collected themselves from where they’d been scattered about in the battle, and congratulated each other on their splendid performances. The ‘crippled’ one used his bayonet to push himself up where he’d fallen; the boy may not care anymore about his difference, but that didn’t mean his brothers-in-arms were any more welcoming. He was used to it, the unacceptance, but it didn’t make it any less painful. After rising, he took the opportunity to look about the parlor. There was brightly colored paper everywhere, a tree that seemed miles tall, and off to his left- where he was sure that Michael’s sister had been- was the most magnificent castle he’d ever seen. 

It was made from sturdy paper and had beautiful colored windows, turrets, rose bushes around the front palisades, and a drawbridge, but the most magnificent part was the figure behind the clear windows at the top of the tallest tower. She was beautiful, with ringlets of glossy brown hair threaded with pearls, one arm gracefully arched up to the sky while the other reached elegantly behind her. Her costume (for she was a dancer, what else could she be with that form?) was a burnished azure, sparkling across the top while the delicate skirt flared out at her waist and ended just below her knee. The most miraculous thing about her though, the soldier thought, was not any of these facts. It was that she only had one leg, just like him. He couldn't believe his eyes, and he knew that he had to get closer and see her.

He hopped nearer to her castle but didn’t dare to cross the drawbridge. He paused by the gate and gazed up at her and to his surprise, she blinked. She hadn’t moved at all to this point, but now she slowly lowered her arms, and looked down at him. He crouched behind the rose bushes, hoping she hadn't seen his staring, but she just smiled and beckoned to him. The little soldier glanced about to see if any of his brothers had come over, because surely she couldn't be calling to him, but they hadn’t noticed him at all. They were forming ranks and files to map out their new domain, and they clearly hadn't missed him. He looked back to the large window, but the dancer had vanished. The soldier straightened, disappointed and regretful at having driven her away, but as he started to return to his box, his progress was arrested when he heard a noise close by. He gripped his rifle with both hands and turned, only to find the dancer suddenly behind him. She smiled again, and held out her hand. He watched her for a moment, uncomprehending. She motioned, as if to invite him inside her castle, and a blush stole over the soldier's face.

She was never meant to notice him. He was a disgrace to his uniform, he knew that, and if he went inside she’d notice how he couldn't walk like the others. It was painful enough that he was quietly mocked by his brothers; even if this marvelous creature was like him she surely needed no reminder of it every time she looked at him. He shifted his rifle back to his right hand, and as he cast his eyes downward in embarrassment at being noticed, he realized something else. His dancer didn’t have just one leg, she had two, wrapped in delicate pink slippers. She was clearly too good, too beautiful, too perfect for the likes of him, and he had the sudden thought that he shouldn’t have ever left his box at all.


	2. The Nursery

The thundering on the stairs heralded the return of the children to their Christmas treasures, and the lithe dancer gave the soldier a quizzical look before returning to her castle. He watched her go, wanting to be certain she made it to the top of her tower safely before the children returned. It was unlikely Michael would notice the lame little soldier had moved, but he made the attempt to at least get close to his brothers before the boy returned. With laughter and jostling the door to the parlor was thrown open, and gifts were gathered up to be taken to their respective new homes in the nursery. He knew he had to go back in the box, but the soldier knew he would worry constantly until he could see for himself that the little dancer’s castle was safe and sound.

The tin soldiers, being new, were given a place of honor; little Michael staunchly refused to play with anything else for almost two weeks. Daytime that wasn’t taken up with his lessons was spent lying on the floor of the nursery, reenacting glorious battle scenes where the troops would take on any and all other toys Michael could get his hands on. Many of his sister’s dolls fell victim, but Wendy always managed to save them in the nick of time before any real damage was done. Michael would lead his troops into the fray, his dappled gray rocking horse swaying precariously as he raised his fist into the air and shouted, “Charge, men!”

Nighttime, however, was a slightly different tale. The soldiers had mostly settled in to their new home, mapping the terrain of the nursery and acquainting themselves with the established inhabitants. They’d started to take on more individual personalities and names for themselves, mostly based on what Michael had given them during the day. The lame soldier, or rifleman Bertrum, as Michael called him, hadn’t risen much in their esteem. He had attempted several times to assist in patrol duties or reconnaissance missions, only to be looked down upon by lance corporal Killian and told that his services were not required. Bertrum took that as a sign to do some exploration of his own. 

Across the nursery from him was where Wendy’s toys were located, everything neatly put away when she was done playing for the evening. The paper castle, unlike the tin soldiers’ box, was closed up tightly. The dancer was unable to exit her paper prison, yet every time she spotted Bertrum below she moved closer to her window, pressing her dainty hand against the frame and smiling down at him. They would spend the evenings like that, in silent contemplation. Bertrum sometimes wondered if she, like him, was planning what to say if they were ever to meet again. He wished he knew her name. Some nights she gestured towards the drawbridge, letting him know that he was welcome to free her and come inside. He remained constant in his nightly presence and just as consistent in his place outside her abode. The closer he got to the beauty, the more likely she was to realize how deficient he truly was. No, it was better to gaze from afar. 

Every evening Bertrum crossed the nursery- clambering over stuffed toys, around the beautifully decorated paper stage with its flimsy actors on strings, and past the jack-in-the-box that liked to pop out just because it liked to watch Bertum drop his rifle in fright- just to catch a glimpse of the beauty in the tower. The worst part of the trip undoubtedly was having to pass Gaston’s butcher shop. Gaston was much broader than Bertrum, with a white apron tied around his waist, well muscled arms, an array of sharp knives, a shop full of hanging cuts of meat, and a passion for the lovely dancer who lived in the castle. Bertrum always gripped his rifle tighter when passing Gaston’s shop, knowing every night he would have to endure the butcher’s sneers and taunts. Every insecurity was used against him: his isolation from his unit, his deformity, and most especially his cowardice when Gaston caught him attempting to sneak around the butcher shop. Gaston would punctuate each defect with a sharp thwack of his knife through a cut of veal, a horrible smile on his face. Bertrum hated that he had to pass the shop to get to the castle, and there were nights, after a particularly grueling battle during the day, that he debated just going to sleep in his box. Without fail, however, every night he swallowed hard, shouldered his rifle, and set out on his journey. 

It was during his third week as a resident of the nursery that he realized Gaston was not going to be content with verbal abuse and degradation. He was actively moving on to sabotaging Bertrum.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to add that I was also inspired by this image, which is quietly and classically one of the most beautiful depictions of these characters I have ever seen. http://siquia.deviantart.com/art/The-Steadfast-Tin-Soldier-91528338


End file.
